


Relish

by Salmon_Pink



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Community: avengers_tables, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmon_Pink/pseuds/Salmon_Pink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The terror and the thrill, she looks at him and she can <i>taste</i> them. (<b>Spoilers for <i>The Avengers</i></b>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relish

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Avengers_Tables](http://avengers-tables.livejournal.com/), prompt "risk".

Banner sees her watching him. Natasha knows he does. 

Of course, that’s because she _wants_ him to see. He’d never notice her eyes on his skin if she didn’t choose to allow it.

She’s not a danger-junkie, no matter what Clint likes to insist. And Clint _does_ like to insist that, usually when they’re standing knee-deep in bodies and Natasha’s aching and sweating and looking for something else to kick in the face.

She’s always dismissed him when he starts in on that whole “addicted to the rush” shtick.

But this time? 

This time is different.

She doesn’t even know why.

She just knows she’ll be seeing Banner in her dreams, as soon as she gets the chance to actually sleep, and won’t that be an interesting change from the usual nightmares? 

She’ll be seeing muscles rolling and pulsing, be hearing his heaving breath and harsh, wet gasps, smelling anger and terror as it hovers in the air like red mist around her head.

She’ll be seeing his eyes, pupils dilating until there’s almost nothing but black, like a demon from a hell she doesn’t believe in.

Those eyes are on her now, but they’re deep and soft and _human_ and they still send a chill down her spine. 

Banner looks almost like he’s expecting her to turn away. Like he’s used to the stares when his attention is elsewhere and people dropping their eyes when he catches them.

Natasha stares back. She doesn’t tilt her head up defiantly and she doesn’t nod in greeting. She just stares and lets it leak into her eyes, bit by bit. 

Lets him _see_.

Lets him see the fear and the anger and the curiosity and the _lust_. Lays it all bare, and maybe _this_ is what Clint sees in her on the battlefield, even when she’s trying to guard it close.

Not guarding it close now, not at all, and Banner’s lips part, ever so slightly, just enough for a glimpse of teeth, just enough to give her the impression he’s panting, or beginning to.

She can almost _see_ it, lurking just under his skin, that feral rage.

Her stomach lurches, sudden and sharp, and the spike of adrenaline makes her eyes flutter.

“Bruce,” she says quietly, and she can practically _feel_ Stark’s ears prick up at her tone. But he’s still distracted, discussing with Thor and Selvig what exactly is needed to transport Loki back to Asgard, and nobody else is paying attention when she steps backwards from the room, eyes locked on Banner’s face.

Well, Clint is probably paying attention, because Clint is _always_ paying attention, even when he insists he’s not.

She has to hand it to Stark - he’s built a lot of twists and turns and interesting hiding spots into his tower. Would have been a pain in the ass to secure if she were still working undercover for him, but now she can appreciate it as she waits for Banner to follow her.

There’s no question of whether or not he’ll follow.

His grunt is surprised when she shoves him against the wall, the soft noise that follows it hungry.

She presses into his space, feels their chests rise and fall together, sharing a breath as she gives herself a moment to just take it in. Tanned skin and stubble and dirt and bruises from the explosion in the helicarrier but not from the fights after, because Hulk, the Other Guy, he doesn’t seem to take damage.

“Agent Romanoff, this probably isn’t-”

“Natasha,” she corrects, cutting him off, and her lips brush his, just barely, but it’s enough to make his breath catch.

She twines her fingers around his left hand, brings it up to her chest. His eyes don’t leave her face, even when she curls his fingers around her zipper and uses his hand to ease it down.

“Natasha,” he says, quiet and careful and his expression is not expectant or confused or hesitant. He’s watching her, studying her like _she’s_ the unpredictable monster.

She drops her hands to the expensive trousers Stark loaned him, fingers moving deftly to release the fly.

“You’re _always_ angry?” she asks, as the material slips down his thighs.

And for a moment, one long, breath-taking moment, she sees it. Sees the animal inside, sees it throw its head back and roar as Banner smiles at her, like a predator biding its time, knowing the prey is already ensnared. 

For a moment she’s back on the helicarrier, leg pinned and horror choking her and knowing with a gut-wrenching certainty that she’s going to die as she watches Banner turn. 

Her heart pounds, there’s sweat on her brow, and she feels so fucking _alive_.

“Always,” Banner whispers, and there’s no guileless scientist here, there’s only a man who is intimately acquainted with danger, only a man who has danger running through his blood.

There’s only impulse and desire and bloodlust and the _risk_.

Natasha smirks, lets it be challenging and reckless and free, hooking her thigh up against his hip, and in the moment before their lips meet, she purrs, “ _Show me_.”


End file.
